


Young Gods

by nencenedril



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: M/M, Short, dovahkiin/cicero, mentions of killing, very sort of free verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9127471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nencenedril/pseuds/nencenedril
Summary: Young Gods traversing the land, falling in love, being remembered.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i just sort of wrote this from a literal two worded prompt of 'young gods', and i've been playing a buttload of skyrim/eso so i thought it appropiate to write some cicero/dovahkiin (which i love and it needs more fics which i am most definitely going to write lol)

The listener listened, the keeper kept. They travelled alongside each other day after day, the hunt always on for the next prey.

They went to all the great cities, dined like kings on the money made from murder. And they wore their red and black wherever they went, spreading the influence of their guild. Behold us, the pair would speak without speaking, behold us as we pass through your villages and your towns and your cities, as we pass and we kill and you cannot do one thing to stop us.

The jester would use his daggers, always gleaning in the dark, gleaning like his white smile in the sunshine when he charmed people around, gleaning like the mad twisted snarl when he dragged his dagger through their (the hunted) flesh.

The other used whatever he could get his hands on, whatever weapon he happened to carry, fighting like a wild animal backed into a corner, fighting like a man with everything to lose.  
And the rare times the hunted lash out they lash back, a hundred times harder and faster and harsher, to see each other wounded is to be themselves wounded.

The jester (the keeper, the mad one, the assassin) said one day, sitting by the campfire, in the hushed voice of blasphemy, sometimes he said sometimes it feels like we’re young gods, travelling our plane of existence and playing with the mortals we find.

The listener listened to this, as he always does, as he always listens. He remembers the people they killed, the old and young, male and female, men, beast and mer. He remembers the warm blood pouring out of bodies and last gasping breaths and flailing limbs. He remembers panicked screams and pleading and bargaining, the please o please of a desperate man.  
He remembered the cold nights pressed up against each other, huddled for warmth, kissing and feeling more powerful with the red-headed imperial in his grasp than when he has two daggers and a wounded victim in front of him. The love-drunk kisses and the never-leave-me kisses and the how-dare-you-get-injured kisses. He remembers the laughter on horseback as they get lost and how they never seem to be too far apart from each other.  
Their madness and their love combine into something resembling a godhood, something that all the Aedra and the Daedra in the world couldn’t rival, not Molag Bal and his Oblivion Gates nor Akatosh and his hold over time. He thinks on this and he thinks and at last…

Young gods he whispered back, leaning in and in, young gods he whispered against the lips of the other.

The barely there kiss he likes to think transfers these feelings when he knows it transfers none and he likes to think that they will be young forever, travelling this frigid land, finding more people to sanction someone’s revenge on. But he also knows deep in his bones, that they will age and wither and die, buried together, their bodies entwined in the earth forever.

Young gods stay young, gods stay alive, they won’t do either, but in their own way they will be young gods forever, in the memory of the people who fear them, in the legends that will be told of them; ‘they came like twin shadows, a whirlwind of death that picked their victim up and drained them of life then threw them back down, they came like prowling wolves snapping and growling and snarling, they were death swooping down on us, they were Sithis himself’

And in that small way they shall be together forever, in the legends and the myths and the fables of the Keeper and Listener who fell in love and flooded the land with blood.


End file.
